


Trouble Won't Let You Forget

by poptod



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 12:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptod/pseuds/poptod
Summary: Snippets of life from the viewpoint of a nurse.(Gender neutral reader)





	Trouble Won't Let You Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: excessive swearing. the italicized days things means how many days/weeks later n stuff. also i've only seen like five episodes of the pacific and it was a while ago  
Soulmate AU where your soulmates name appears on your wrist after you say their name after you've met them. So some people are very open with their name, others consider it the key to everything private about them.

It’s interesting how dreams change. As a small child, you wanted nothing more than to be an artist. A year later, you wanted to be a dancer, then a singer, then a writer, followed by a farmer, a doctor, a veterinarian, and so many other things that your parents couldn’t keep up.

How, out of all those choices you ended up being a medic in the military was beyond you. You could’ve been a doctor, or perhaps a fighter (though nobody would see that coming), or you could’ve been a cook. But no, you went to med school and finished as a nurse. Through more procedures than you could count you ended up drafted into the military, ending up on some faraway island whose name you didn’t care to remember.

These days, you didn’t seem to care about much.

You’d learn the names of patients with gunshot wounds, and forget them a second later when another soldier was shot. When someone happened to survive, they’d come up to you to thank you, and you wouldn’t remember them. In the chaos, they didn’t ever seem to mind.

It wasn’t always like that, of course - the first time you were embroiled in conflict, you were scared, full of emotion and completely blanking out. You saw one man dying in front of you and your heart wept, and though tears flew heavy from your eyes you could not see them. Just another tear in the mesh of mud, filth, and blood that you crawled through.

Pleasant experience all around.

There was one man you knew. He made sure of that, reminding you of his name every single time he annoyed you. He loved doing that - pestering you - it seemed to be the only thing that entertained him, constantly egged on by his friends. He seemed to be under the very unfortunate belief that the two of you were soulmates, always asking your _real_ name and always giving his, despite the fact that he always said he hated it.

His friends called him Snafu. He’d kill him if they called him his real name, which he insisted only _you_ use.

Merriel. You actually loved the name and would’ve gladly used it if you didn’t want to piss the hell out of him.

You were one of very few remaining medics after a particularly gruesome shootout, as your friend liked to call them. What with a touch of femininity lost, or as you liked to call it, ‘emotion,’ soldiers were a bit desperate for someone to talk to. A therapist. A lover. Neither of which you were. Still, they came to you with issues.

“I’ve got a rash on my hands and I don’t know what to do, I can barely hold my gun,” one said, holding out his blistering, red, and bleeding hands.

“Wash them off in the river. Come back and I’ll apply somethin’,” you told him, noticing that it was most likely a stress rash. Those were a bit harder to get rid of.

“I can’t stop having nightmares,” another said, his voice quiet in the dark of night when he spoke to you. You hadn’t any idea what to say - those were common. They wouldn’t go away till, most likely, he went home, and that was no guarantee. But truth wasn’t what those seeking comfort were looking for.

“Breathe deeply before you sleep. Remember that you’ve got a whole platoon looking out for you,” you told him instead. He seemed to relax, and as small as the movement was, it made you feel a little better about yourself.

“I’m getting stomach pains, no idea why,” someone complained, clutching his stomach rather dramatically as he came to you. You twirled to face him.

“Have you been eating?”

“… not much. Haven’t got the appetite.”

You sighed, beckoning him closer and getting level with him.

“I know the food here sucks ass but you need t’ eat, even just a little every day. Alright?”

He nodded, and left.

It was one of those quiet days, where the sun shined and the world seemed to seep into a paradise, if it wasn’t for the guns and all that. A new arrival of ‘fresh meat,’ as _everyone_ seemed to call it, was coming that day, not that you cared much. The biggest thing was that there was more supplies coming in.

And as always, the new people seemed to be fascinated with you. In their world of complete masculinity, you were gentle. You wouldn’t consider yourself _feminine_ by any standards, but you were kind. Understanding. This new interest in you would pass in a few days. Unfortunately, along with this fascination came the new need to _flirt_ with you, for whatever reason.

“Could - could you tell me where I am?” A sweet faced, innocent looking kid asked you, looking like he belonged more on the streets of a rich southern town than there. A whole lot of kids looked like that.

“No idea. Didn’t care to ask. Need anything?” You said, turning from your new boxes of supplies.

“No, I’m alright… thank you. You’ve been the most helpful here so far. I’m Eugene,” he said, holding out his hand. Not many people here gave their real name.

“You can call me Bugs. Most guys here do,” you replied. You weren’t one to give your name easy. It felt too private for you. Still you shook his held out hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a sweet smile, leaving quickly after to try and find out where he was supposed to be.

_Ointment, bandages, blood…_

The checklist in your head was one you memorized long ago. One of the few things you remembered. Thus you made sure to remember it well.

“Hope you don’t forget ‘bout me, what with all the new boys comin’ in,” a far too familiar voice came, a teasing rhythm as he spoke.

“What makes you think I’d forget you?” You asked, voice dull. You pointedly did not turn around.

“Y’ tend to forget most things. Like my name,” he said, coming up and standing beside you, leaning against a stack of boxes.

“I can assure you I remember your name quite clearly.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“If you need to be reminded what your own name is, I suggest seeing a specialist. I treat bodily wounds, not the mind,” you replied, flicking his forehead for emphasis.

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that,” he laughed, growing increasingly closer to you.

“I fuckin’ hate that name,” you grumbled, turning back to your boxes.

“Y’should give me your real one then.”

“Not a chance, bwana.”

He sighed, relaxing into your seat, legs kicked up on your supplies. You narrowed your eyes, but payed him no mind as you continued.

“So, uh, you meet the new guys?”

You nodded.

“Any thoughts?”

“They’re certainly here,” you said plainly.

He relaxed further into your seat, enjoying the shade in the blistering heat of the day. The salt of the ocean made sure your hands stayed dry as you continued unpacking, him nearly falling asleep in the peace of the day. Behind you, you heard him sigh deep as he let sleep consume him.

Turning around you let yourself scan over him, making sure he was fully healthy. In situations as your own and his, ailments came at any and all times in all sorts of ways.

Before you could properly avert your eyes he opened his, just a sliver, enough to see you and to smirk dirtily at you.

“Checkin’ me out, cher?”

“In your dreams,” you hissed, whipping back around.

“You are a dream,” he laughed, standing up. “Don’t forget, the names’ Merriel.” His hands wrapped around the upper part of your arms, leaning over your turned shoulder and planting a kiss against your temple. You couldn’t react in time, couldn’t explode in your own anger before he was already gone.

_Asshole_.

_Two weeks._

“Again?”

“Yeah… sorry,” he mumbled, holding out his arms. If you didn’t know better you’d consider him manic. Scratches covered his arms, and no matter how many times you patched him up he came back all covered in his own blood again.

“Gotta stop doing this, Patch.”

How affectionate and creative a nickname his friends had given him. Named after the patches you always gave him.

“I know, I’m trying,” he insisted as he sat down on a spare cot.

“You’re wasting supplies,” you chided, pulling out bandages nonetheless.

Why he did this, you had no idea, and if you cared, you probably would’ve sent him to a better hospital. But he never requested to go, and no one ever asked, so you didn’t bother. Hardly ever crossed your mind, except when supplies were running especially low.

With careful, well taught hands you wrapped him up, making sure to keep it tight so he wouldn’t scratch the bandages away in the night.

“Thanks Bug,” he said with a smile, bowing his head thankfully as he left your tent.

_One and a half weeks._

“You’re absolutely sure I have to eat this?” The man who had complained about stomach issues asked you during lunch.

“Yes. And,” you stopped him before he could continue. “If there’s anything moving, eat it. Protein’s good for you.”

You turned before you could see him gag. With your own filled up plate of sustenance (food didn’t feel like the proper word for it) you sat in your regular spot, on the ground with everyone else, apart from any major groups. Still, whether you wanted it or not, trouble always found you.

And trouble had a name.

Trouble wouldn’t let you _forget_ his name.

“Hey there Bug,” he said with another one of his cocky smirks, sitting too close to you as always. He was far too comfortable with such public displays of affection.

“Hiya,” you responded in the most bland voice you could muster. No matter, it never seemed to deter him.

“How’s the doctors office today?”

“Not too busy.”

“And you?” He asked, leaning in and chewing obnoxiously in your ear.

“Better in the quiet.”

He laughed, leaning back onto his hand as he continued eating without care for how it tasted or looked.

“Good luck getting quiet here,” he snorted.

“Bugs,” Eugene said simply, his greeting for you, and your absolute savior.

“Gene! How goes it?” You asked, quickly diverting all your attention to your friend.

“‘Bout as well as it can,” he joked, sitting down in front of you and a rather undignified Snafu.

“So that’s how it is?” Snafu asked, turning to you with an almost sad expression.

“Vamoose, chuckles,” you said, pushing him away.

“Whatevah.”

With Eugene, you got your quiet. He hardly ever spoke, and when he did, he was kind. Soft spoken and intelligent, calm and collected. No screws loose and no live wires like his counterpart, now his bunkmate. After that meeting and short conversation Snafu left, grabbing his tray and leaving with a curt nod to each of you.

“He always like that?” Gene asked, his shoulders noticeably tighter after a recent skirmish.

“Only around me. He’s convinced we’re soulmates. We aren’t of course, I can’t stand the guy,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. It was inconceivable.

“What if you are? Soulmates, I mean?”

“… Please,” you muttered, ending the conversation with a pointed look down at your food, nearly flat out ignoring your friend.

“Just thought I’d ask,” he chuckled, getting your point.

_Two days._

Life was hell. How achingly painful it was to always be searching, never exploring, never being able to take in the beauty of your surroundings in the hate and violence that swarmed around the camp, penetrating through every kind and peaceful thought, bashing every spoken ideal of happiness.

How tiring it was to always be on edge, to always be waiting for the shot that belonged to you. The bullet meant to pierce through you, meant to pierce through your friends. It was your job to save people from stray bullets not for them, not meant to kill them, because it simply wasn’t meant to be - these were _children_. The longer you looked the younger they got. Battle hardened gazes were also the faces of kids on their first date, with leftover baby fat in rosy cheeks that were supposed to be being kissed by pretty girls in their hometown.

Time wasn’t real. Maybe one day was one week. Weeks felt like minutes, and you no longer trusted yourself. You couldn’t trust the clocks either, the sun, or the moon in the sky.

Ocean water had grown tiring after a while, the spritz of it, the smell of rotting seaweed that had washed up from the depths, swarming with flies. But on this small patch of sand it was pure peace, stars reflecting on the stillest waters you’d ever seen.

Life was hell, but you’d always have yourself. Your peace, a small bit of yourself that had just barely escaped corroding by the beatings of war.

The smell of salt wafting off the still ocean was calming if you stopped to appreciate it. A part of you knew, anxiously pacing in your mind, that night wasn’t safe. That you needed to get back to camp, where there was protection, where there were guns. You felt as though you weren’t controlling yourself, allowing yourself to be vulnerable to attack like this. Despite this panic contained in your head you did not move from your spot atop a large piece of driftwood.

“Nice night, ain’t it?”

You jumped, turning to face the voice that had so violently ripped you out of your thoughts. It was, of course, Snafu. The man couldn’t seem to leave you alone, but he didn’t look like he was there to bother you. While he was shirtless as usual, carrying a gun slung round his back, he was smiling in this sort of gentle way, almost nostalgic, as though he knew what to do for once.

“.. Yes… nice night,” you finally replied, scooting so you could become smaller. You turned back to the ocean.

“Didn’t peg you for the, uh, daydreaming type,” he said, grunting as he sat next to you. To your own surprise, he gave you your space.

“It’s nighttime,” you responded, knowing your comment was smart aleck but not caring.

“Fuck, y’know what I mean though,” he chuckled, punching you lightly on the shoulder. You laughed, head hanging between your shoulders as you closed your eyes, sighing as you finished.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout that’s got you so down?”

Could you really tell him? Your thoughts weren’t very nice thoughts. They were also emotional, and these guys didn’t tend to like emotional things.

A better question was if you could trust him. If you told him, had you any promise he wouldn’t go tell everyone?

Though, who would he tell? What would he gain? All he really wanted, as far as you knew, was to know your name.

“Everyone here is so young,” you murmured, keeping your head low and eyes closed.

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, obviously referring to some of the much older men. You chuckled humorlessly, agreeing.

“But you understand, right? They look so… innocent, coming in. I feel bad for not sending them back, like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Aw hell, this about Sledge? ‘Cause he -“

“No, no it’s just… never mind, it’s just these melancholy thoughts goin’ round my head an’ I can’t help it. I guess I overthink.”

“Nuttin’ bad ‘bout that, boo. Shit, this place’ll get to anyone given the chance,” he said, and though you didn’t look at him, he kept his eyes on you. You always had an innate feeling of when you were being watched, and his eyes were by far the most intense upon you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, lifting your head to watch the stars.

They seemed endless without the lights of cities and towns you were so used to. From your tiny point in the vastness of your galaxy you could see the whole of it, spreading out in glittering expanses of comets and faraway stars, shining in their eternal light.

“I like stars,” you announced in a quiet voice, an observation you just made. In your time as a civilian, you hadn’t payed much attention. You could barely see them after all, just a few lights in the sky like the nightlight in your bedroom. During your time on the island, you hadn’t really stopped to think about it. Now you did so, feeling the inconsequentialness of your life and situation.

“They’re nice,” he said in thoughtless agreement, gaze drifting upwards to the bright belt encircling the night sky.

“Sort of make you feel small,” you said.

“A little,”he said.

“I don’t know if I like it or not,” you said.

“That’s alright too,” he said.

_Eight hours._

“Where in the hell were you last night? I woke up and you weren’t there and I was worried sick, thank god you showed up when you did else I would’ve alerted someone,” your friend chastised you right as you entered your tent, rambling on and on about safety as he paced.

“Jesus, you sound like my mother,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on your cot and pulling off your boots.

“Did you even take a gun with you? A knife? _Anything_?” He asked, ignoring your comment.

“No, but… I was - I was with someone, he had a gun. I was fine,” you grumbled, paying closer attention to your aching feet than to your worried friend.

“Who was it?” He asked, seeming to finally calm down slightly as he leaned against the boxes of supplies.

“That fuckhead that won’t stop pestering me, Snafu,” you hissed, completely dissing the peace you’d found with the man only hours earlier.

“That guys fuckin’ annoying, I dunno how you stand him,” he sighed, head tilted upwards.

“I barely do,” you grunted, pulling your boots back on.

Another hot, blistering day in hells’ paradise.

“I’ve got a headache that won’t go away,” a man came up to you, eyes drowsy with the pain he experienced, hands clutched tight around his head in an embrace that looked painful.

“Relax, take these pills,” you said, handing him a few strong painkillers. Those were supposed to be used for any awake surgeries, only used if patients were so weak they’d die under anesthesia.

“I - I can’t stop shaking?” Another man said, his legs weak and practically vibrating, dripping in sweat. You felt his forehead, finding it cold.

“How’s your vision? Okay or a little blurry?”

“Blurry,” he stammered out, clutching his arms around himself like it was freezing.

“Headache? How’s your appetite?”

“I - uh, I, please, uh, I’m hungry,” he stumbled over his words, trying to concentrate to find the right ones.

“Alright, I’d say eat something now. Small, frequent meals are best, and if you keep feeling like this, I’ll send you to a better hospital, okay?”

He nodded, leaving your tent into the light of day. Through the mesh material you could watch as he tried to act normal.

“I’m having these night sweats,” a man came to you, his fingers tapping nervously on the side of his leg, the movement seemingly unconscious.

“How often?” You asked.

“I dunno, twice a week?”

“Come back if it gets more than that. You’re fine right now,” you said, sending him off with a smile.

_Three days._

Things tend to change quickly in your life. For what seemed like forever, there was a stagnant peace that set everyone on edge, just waiting for the next conflict, the next order, begging for the anxious wait to be over. Now that it was, multiple skirmishes happening within the timespan of a few days, the same people begging for war were now begging for rest.

Through sheer will and horror of the events you blocked out your memory of those days, only coming back to earth when there hadn’t been the sound of a gunshot for a good seven hours.

You had woken up from a nap in the middle of a pit, stirred by your friend.

“I think… it’s over,” he whispered, voice careful, eyes in a flurry as he looked from place to place, jumping at any small movement. He wasn’t able to go on autopilot like you were.

“Let’s haul ass,” you grunted as you got your bearings, looking for anyone that needed more intensive care back at the medical tent.

Men who were more fit, who could physically stand it, helped carry back bodies, or those more injured. You, and your friend, weeded out who could walk, and who needed to be treated right that instant.

Among those more heavily wounded was Snafu. In mindless worry you ran to his side, pausing as all thought escaped you in a panic.

“Hey boo,” he mumbled, his speech slurred from the blood he’d lost. He didn’t seem to be bleeding any more, but he was certainly in no condition to move.

“I’ll keep going,” your friend said to you, leaving you alone.

“Snaf,” you breathed out, scrambling for your kit as you realized what you needed to do. Clean up the wound, try and remove the bullet, sew up, bandage, try not to loose more blood.

“How ya doin’?” He asked weakly, his voice fading in volume as he continued.

“Not important,” you muttered, getting him to swallow painkillers made especially for these situations. Though you could feel yourself shake with the intensity of your harrow, your hands steadied as you worked away at the bullet wound in the far right of his torso. It hadn’t hit any organs, not even near to it, but you still felt anxious as all hell.

“Thanks,” he breathed out, voice barely even a whisper.

“Don’t talk,” you mumbled, acutely aware of your own stress that seemed insurmountable, though it was soon over. You wrapped the bandage around his stomach, a splotch of blood seeping through the first few layers before disappearing. In that time, he’d fallen asleep, his breathing even and deep.

“That was intense,” came a voice from behind you. You turned, seeing Eugene looking tired and almost angry.

“I -“

“Don’t ever say you can’t stand him again. I saw the fear in your eyes. You probably care more ‘bout him than you care ‘bout yourself,” he said, standing from his position in the mud to help you carry him back to his tent.

“Don’t tell him,” you requested weakly.

“I won’t.”

_One day._

You sat beside him. Sat, and beside, being loose terms, as you actually sat on the ground beside his bed as he slept, eyes open but drooping, kept wide only by your own anxiety. Eugene insisted that you sleep but even when you tried, you couldn’t. Fortunately for your own health, he woke not long after being put to sleep.

“… Bugs?” He asked, voice quiet and hoarse. Immediately you turned around, handing him a flask of water.

“Hey, try not to talk,” you said, trying to get him to sit up just a little so he could drink easier.

“I see nothing’s changed,” he grumbled, drinking nonetheless.

“Shush. I need to change your bandages now,” you mumbled, mostly talking to yourself and trying to ignore Eugene staring at you, obviously amused by your antics.

“I can do it m -“

“It’s safer if I do it, I don’t trust you,” you said quickly, not meeting his eye as you grabbed another white roll of bandages, setting it on his cot.

“Bugs -“

“Shush.”

Gingerly you removed his bandages, crumpling them up and putting them on the ground before cleaning the wound. Soap and water, then ointment, you rehearsed to yourself. Then the bandage.

You followed your own steps easily once Snafu shut up, letting you work without complaint. For once you felt socially nervous, with both of the boys staring at you. To be fair, you were most likely the only entertainment in the tent.

“Bugs, I -“

“Alright that’s it, bye!” You said quickly, packing up and leaving before you could embarrass yourself further. Long ago you wouldn’t ever have considered compassion and caring an embarrassment but you’d spent so long building up the idea that you disliked him, that to be so blatantly caring was uncomfortable.

Before you made it back to the safety of your own tent, a hand tugged your arm back, forcing you to turn back. Eugene stood there, looking more annoyed than anything.

“No use tryin’ to keep up this game the two of ya’ have. Secrets out, you like him,” he said, chuckling at the end.

“I don’t like him. He’s just an idiot and if I don’t take care of him he’s going to end up dead,” you practically spat.

“Didn’t seem to bother you before,” he said, releasing you.

Did it?

_Two days._

As night crept up on you, just as last night, you couldn’t sleep. Reckless, far-fetched thoughts swarmed your head, blocking out any hope of rest. So, in your tired yet anxious stupor you left your tent, finding solace in sleeping next to Snafu’s bed. You curled up, back to his cot, leaning against a box he kept as a sort of nightstand.

To your luck no one awoke as you did all these things, but some time later, Snafu awoke, sitting up slightly to find you beside him.

_That’s odd_, he thought to himself, eyes bleary with sleep. He collapsed back onto his cot, his arm hanging out and around you. Though he couldn’t see you, his eyes trained on the ceiling, he felt your cheek press into his arm, your breath light against his skin.

You woke up before dawn, before him, paying little attention to the arm wrapped around you, attributing it to nighttime tossing. You set it back onto the cot, slipping away before anyone could notice.

He awoke alone, on the one night he expected not to.

_Five days._

“Ow.”

“Stop moving then,” you hissed, trying to remove his stitches.

“You’re the one pulling at ‘em like they killed ya’ father or somethin’,” he grumbled, looking down at you. He sat on his cot, feet planted on the ground, you kneeled between them. It was a rather lewd position you didn’t like being in, but he didn’t want to lie down, and this was as good as you could get.

“Hey, Bugs,” he said after a moment, the last stitch almost removed. It would’ve been finished faster if he didn’t keep jerking, and if he chose a better time than evening.

“Yes?” You asked, gritting your teeth.

“Say my name. I know you wanna,” he joked, no malice behind it, but this whole joke of his clearly wasn’t over.

“Jesus fucking Christ Snaf, I thought we were done with this,” you sighed, yanking the last stitch out.

“Ow! How could I be done with it? You’re my soulmate,” he grumbled, rubbing the palm of his hand over the side of his stomach, attempting to massage away the pain. You paused, noticing the lack of humor as he spoke.

“Wait, you’re not joking,” you said, tone serious as you looked him in the eye.

“Yes? Haven't been since I started, boo,” he chuckled incredulously.

Oh. Now all those times you’d insulted him, brushed him off as an asshole, they all came back in a rush of embarrassment. He, despite his tone and choice of words, was being honest. The poor guy actually thought the two of you were soulmates. And you, in your stupid empathy, felt _sorry_ for him.

“… My name’s (Y/N),” you said quietly, leaving quickly. Almost jogging you left the tent on a beeline for your own tent, and still yet, you were stopped with a harsh tug to your arm. In the cool of night you whipped around, almost scared as you looked up at him.

“That’s a nice name, y’know,” he murmured, grabbing your hands and pulling you closer to him.

“You’re really going to do this now,” you asked, eyes darting around for anyone who might see you.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in.

“If you _must_,” you looked up at him, rolling your eyes. “Not here.” You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling him towards the beach, where, God willing, you’d get some privacy.

“I like how you think,” he said, a flirtatious lilt in his voice as he smiled coyly. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, continuing to drag him to the shoreline. When you at last reached the sand, after weaving silently through paths and tents, you let go of him, continuing to walk away from him. You felt hard of breathing.

“Bugs, wait up!” You heard him call you from behind, and his running steps till he caught up with you.

“You okay, cher?”

“Not really. I - I thought you were joking, I didn’t… I didn’t think you were _serious_. God I would’ve done stuff so different if I knew you were serious, I’m so sorry,” you practically blubbered, unable to truly face him as you kept your eyes averted.

“There is _one_ way you can make it up to me,” he said, holding your hands in his once more. You were silent, so he continued.

“My name’s Merriel.”

“And mine’s (Y/N).”

You couldn’t initiate it. You couldn’t be the one to break his heart when he realized you weren’t his. He’d have to say your name first - you’d never get the courage to say his first, so you didn’t bother trying, teasing him along the way.

“Please?” He asked one more time, entreating with a begging, soft voice. You shook your head tightly, already knowing you couldn’t.

“So bold, till it comes really comes down to it, huh (Y/N)?” He said mellowly, leaning in closer to you. His hand around your wrist let it go, coming up to your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss softer than anything you were expecting. In all honesty, you thought he’d be harsh, commanding, domineering, but he wasn’t - instead, he seemed in desperate need for you to take control. Still, you didn’t. It seemed cruel to reciprocate only to say no the next minute.

When he pulled away from your unmoving lips, he looked down at his wrist, seeing your name in pastel print upon his skin, etched into him for as long as he may live.

You choked on your own breath.

Now _that_ wasn’t what you were expecting in any scenario.

“Told ya,” he said with a smirk, holding his wrist up proudly for you to see.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, covering your mouth.

This idiot was your soulmate?!

“Oh my _God_,” you gasped out again.

“I know, aren’t you a lucky doll?”

“Oh my God.”

“Jesus, I know I’m great and all, but my name’s Merriel, not God,” he joked, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. Stumbling a little you fell onto his chest, your hands now pressed instinctively on his chest.

“Oh my God, _Merriel_,” you breathed, finally looking up to meet his eyes. Affection and revelry swirled within them, dancing with the absolute euphoria he was experiencing. He was right, you were wrong. Distantly, you felt a small tingling on your left wrist.

“See? Not that hard,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. Just as before, soft and adoring, just pressing against you, waiting for you to move. This time you did, pressing into him and holding him close in the most tender of embraces.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” you mumbled between kisses, your lips still against his as you spoke. He laughed, almost nodding before he swooped in for another kiss.

“I guess I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this starving at midnight be kind i already know this is the shittiest thing ive ever written aye  
also! wanted to write more than this but the more part would be someone dying a harsh death so i thought i should probably just leave it like it is


End file.
